


Real

by Annabel_Lioncourt



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, somebody had to do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-31 03:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13966398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabel_Lioncourt/pseuds/Annabel_Lioncourt
Summary: Is it an impulse buy if you've thought about it before? Thought about it a thousand times and desperately wanted it?Updates mondays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everyone on this tiny little ship](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=everyone+on+this+tiny+little+ship).



            —Amanda would be home already, Christopher thought, as he tugged his jacket closed against the wind. Humans around him were doing the same, and though Samuels was quickly learning how to pass the Turing Test with scores even Weyland-Yutani couldn’t dream of, things like temperature and human comfort levels still escaped him.

            An area of shops, tourist offerings, and cafes surrounded the business district; on good days he loved its bustling activity, as if the city itself was alive. On bad days, he and the human that called him hers both preferred their flat in the old side of Luna, surrounded by scant apartment buildings, laboratories: a scientific center with few intrusions and little noise. Its only downside was that they could not be too affectionate—once in a blue moon, enough to be worried of it, they’d pass someone from the company that recognized his model.

            The path he would take through the city when he walked instead of taking the shuttle was meandering. Normally he only walked it when Amanda finished early and showed up at his office, relishing the freedom of walking hand-in-hand with her in public. Here, she could kiss him in broad daylight on a crowded street and no one would even suspect that between the two they only had only one beating heart.

            _(Her heart is racing, muscle, blood pump, soft fistful of flesh that her existence depends up, and it’s absolutely singing for him. The old authors called it a little death and for the first time he grasps that they didn’t mean that it was violent, but that it’s as close to being spiritual as the act of dying.)_

            The message she left on his office line earlier had been that she’d be done work hours ahead of schedule—too much earlier than him to wait around his building and walk him home. Without her company he had no reason to make their scenic route back, it would only waste time. He cut down a narrower street and it let out to higher end shops. Ripley had dragged him into one of them before, the one with the black and white awning and baby pink interior; its walls lined in all sorts of over complicated and overpriced lingerie. Her smile was pure mischief as she held up article after article in front of him asking for opinions.

 _(They’re lovely, but I don’t understand it. If I want you, I want_ you _, I don’t want all these ties and snaps and hooks and straps in the way. We’re going home, she answers, we’re going home_ now _.)_

Other offerings included two high-end fashion shops, a men’s tailor, an art gallery, and the jeweler’s shop with their massive poster of a young woman laughing, held from behind by an equally young and joyous man, both their gazes focused on a massive ring on the woman’s left hand.

            —Amanda would be home, she finished work earlier than he did today, and she would be waiting to, or already have ordered in something truly awful for her: fried Chinese food, pizza and fries, he begs her to eat more, but she could at least pick something green…

            _(She’s too thin to be healthy, he thinks, kissing up her concave abdomen, soft skin, hard muscle, hip bones—thoughts cut off by her hands fisted in his hair and tugging him back up to kiss her mouth.)_

            It wasn’t that he saw the woman in the poster as Amanda; Ripley was far too pragmatic to wear her hair loose like her outside of their home. When she hears the click of his keycard unlocking the door, she pulls the tie out, and it falls to her shoulders, crimped a bit in the middle from having been tied back so tightly all day. It was a very small thing, but it always touched him so much that, even in this slight way, she changed her preferred behavior, just because he liked to see her hair down.

             A rock threatened to trip him and he kicked it aside, hearing it tumble down a grate.

            _(What would it feel like to be the age on his face? In wonder that now man lives on the moon? Surely the man he would have been wouldn’t be annoyed, kicking moonstones down into a run-off drain.)_

            —Amanda would be home, “improving” an appliance or turning one inside out to create something new; perhaps he’d be greeted instead by her in his shirt, reading on the couch, having long abandoned whatever project she had started.

            The woman on the poster was not the kind to be seen up to her shoulders in motor grease type; and the eyes in her lover’s face were unmistakably human, lacking the subtle shutter-irises of synths.

            “Gorgeous isn’t it? They’re straight from Italy, new designer. They work with comet diamonds.” The sales person had been walking to the door to turn over the old-fashioned ‘OPEN/CLOSED’ sign when she saw him staring at the advertisement. A last second commission wasn’t worth staying late, but the man outside looked wistful enough that she was curious.

            “Thank you, but that’s a touch extravagant for my partner’s tastes,” Samuels wasn’t even lying to get away from the salesgirl, it was the truth. A month ago he had bought Ripley a lace nightgown. She had only accepted it after he begged her too; it was a small thing, a gesture, not even a gift. She had done so much for him, he wanted to give her little things. The little gold star pendent he got her for her birthday was even more of a debate. Still…he’d hand over whatever she could ask for, if she only wanted it. The planet itself and Luna too, heads of world leaders, all the comet diamonds on the market. She’d never ask him; not only was it too violent for his tastes, but Amanda didn’t even like asking him to open doors for her.

            “We have a wide range to suit even the most practical minded.”

            “I’m sorry—I’m not—she isn’t…the type to want—“ _he_ was though, he wanted to laugh like the man in the picture and hold her while she looks down at new ring, at a promise of a single shared lifetime.

            _(Amanda in white holding a champagne flute; her by the window of a quaint house on-planet, looking out at their garden; a young child running towards a swing-set; her giddily showing a bright eyed little girl the science behind some toy while he stands beside her, arm around Amanda’s waist, hand on the swell of her belly. Sixty-odd years together and a shared headstone.)_

            That lifetime was for whatever man she chose; though bubbles of anger he shouldn’t have been able to feel rose in him like the bends, like nitrogen in mortal blood, burning in his, at the thought of the inevitable day that Amanda invites someone else to be as close to her as he is now. He knew that now she’s adamant that they’ll never part, but time can alter things, reveal things. Some day he’ll be worn out, glitching, irreparable.

            —At home, waiting for him, busy or not, having had dinner already or not, but regardless she’ll greet him with a smile, sometimes at the door with a kiss. She’s headstrong, stubborn… _impatient_. And waiting. Still.

            Christopher Samuels looked back at the shop’s advertisement, then his watch. Its broken, and he keeps meaning to ask Amanda to fix it. Not as a favor for him, but because she loves attending small mechanical things. Luckily for now, the gesture was yet another camouflage; he could call perfect satellite time to his line of vision. He was already going to be late. A few more minutes wouldn’t upset her anymore.

            “You said practical?”

            “Without sacrificing the sentiment.” The shop girl smiled, held open the door for him, and turned over the sign to ‘CLOSED’ as it shut behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

About thirty yards from their building, he took the box out of the little black bag, unwrapped it from the tissue, put it in his pocket, and disposed of the wrappings in the nearest rubbish bin. Here, this close to the edge of the city and the beginning of the campus for Tranquility base, he was occasionally recognized. The current desk attendant by the front door—the evening one, the night one was a bot—knew him for what he was, having seen his model in a university course on android technologies. If he was leaving or returning with Ripley, they did so before or after hours, when no human was there to notice how close together they walked.

He showed her his resident ID, synthetic registration number attached to it, before she buzzed open the elevator doors for him. Few enough places required him to show any sort of identification that a fake ID card was superfluous. A fine laser taken to his fingertips to alter the “WY” branded prints into more human whorls took care of any identification he needed to pay with the card of his and Ripley’s attached account.

The only reason it was attached, of course, was because a synthetic could not manage their own account. One that was attached to their owner’s was accepted, but he couldn’t start his own with his own money, seeing as law stated that everything he made, as property of Amanda, was Amanda’s property too. Still, the idea that she was paying out of pocket for his upkeep, even knowing that most of their account was money paid to them by Weyland-Yutani’s legal department, was _intolerable_. He had found a position in programing and coding for Luna’s weather system.

The work was painfully easy but he took his time at it, the better to appear human. His coworkers hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was, even while the environmental board that hired him was fully aware. Ripley had gotten bold and on some of the days she finished work early, she’d go to his office, soot on her face, oil stained coveralls, and every time his coworkers were mildly surprised that the greaser in the lobby was his partner. It made him uneasy; a quick look through recent synthetic models could answer any questions they might have, and ruin the tiny Camelot that he had here.

( _“Glasses?” “It worked for Clark Kent.” “Fiction darling; old fiction.” “Trust me, they’ll work. They’re cute on you anyway,” she knows how to smile, even if it’s only subconsciously, to affect him just the way she wants to. He takes the glasses from her, resigned to it.)_

Days like this one, however, were usually leading to something else, and his mind hadn’t listed towards crude during the walk home for no reason. This was her set-up. If work was slow, she would leave early, and Amanda was never one to ask to go out on a whim, no, usually she wanted to stay in with him. Hopefully this meant that by the night’s end she’d be in a good enough mood to take the ring. Ask her over dinner, if she hasn’t eaten yet. Set it on her pillow. Hide it beneath his own; show it to her after she’s rolled off of him to catch her breath. Or, the most likely outcome, fumble over it like an imbecile as soon as he walked in the door.

The idea of it, however, was feeling more idiotic by the second, logic coming back online, who was he to ask this of her? She could say no, be angry that he overstepped like this; or she could say yes, and he’d ruin any chance she’d ever have at a real marriage.

Elevator doors opened to their floor, and he walked, subconsciously to their flat on the corner, top floor. The windows well out of sight from those below.

_(Waking up in her bed, the first time he stayed with her through the night. She is sitting up, wriggling out from under his heavy arm; she stumbles to the curtains and opens them wide. His instinct is to get out of view, don’t let anyone witness this—but she calls him over, and kisses him in the sunlight where no one can see.)_

For Luna, their apartment was grand; and was looking homier with each passing day. Amanda’s things from the storage locker, the random and ridiculous things she brought home, the place was getting a personality. Samuels had a particularly love/hate relationship with the massive poster for _Forbidden Planet_ hanging above their couch; mid 20 th century. It depicted a robot designed before robotics even began was carrying a woman in a barely-there dress, bridal style over an alien landscape. The mindless machine he hated, but he loved the wide smile of Amanda’s as she waited for his reaction, her laughter threatening to bubble out.

Now though, she was not at the door waiting for him, or at the counter bar working, or on the couch reading. An empty room and the strong scent of melted chocolate greeted him instead of the human embodiment of starlight.

“Amy?”

“Here,” she stood up from below view, a tray in hand. “I made diner. Well. Its not dinner; I ate already—don’t worry, it wasn’t take out, I just made leftovers—but thought about dessert, and I know you don’t like eating but I _do_ know that you like cookies so I…I mean, they’re kind of crispy but so are those shitty ones you get at the store and—“

“Amy—“

“—they still taste alright but it’s okay if—“

“Amy—“

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, luv,” she couldn’t see it, couldn’t see that she was the most thoughtful human he’d spent time with. Nor could he grasp the reality of it, coming home to a human woman he adored, making him cookies. Even burned ones.

The ring box weighed heavy in his jacket, like it was trying to get him to sink to the ground; he’d stop his fall when he was on one knee, like in all the old pictures…

“Are you okay?” she looked over the counter at him while she nudged cookies off the baking sheet and onto cooling racks. It was so strangely domestic of her and—

“Oh? Yes, I’m fine thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“You do shit for me _all the time_. You walk me to and from work most days, you make the bed, clean up dinner even when you _don’t_ eat and,” she paused; looking at the wood grain patterned floor tiles, then up at him again. “Please. They’re cookies. Its not like I—“ she stopped herself; there was no way to talk about his sacrifices without bringing it up, and neither of them were fond of mentioning anything that happened from boarding the Torrens to returning to Luna. “Have one while they’re hot.” Her cooking was decent once she actually started making real food and not instant noodles or frozen pizza. Especially her baking, she was shockingly good at pastries. These were no different, when he took one, biting off half of it at a time. Eating for pleasure rather than for keeping up human appearance was new, and the difference in tastes was fascinating from a scientific point of view.

“They’re perfect,” he said.

“I’d add ‘just like you’ but I’ve reached my quota for cute shit for the night,” he laughed through a second bite, careful not to eat so much he’d have to drain his system before morning—a physical buzz-kill that he had no idea how humans tolerated so often. “There’s a movie on I wanted to see—if you’d like to watch it with me; it’s not on until later, so we could take a walk, or we could, if you want—“

“You want me to run a bath?”

“Yes _please_ ,” she sighed. “I know its not romantic or whatever and you’re probably starting to think that I’m some horny teenager but—“

“Starting to think?” Amanda bit her lips together to avoid from laughing at his half-mocking tone. “I’ve known you are for quite some time,” he kissed her cheek as he walked past her.

“You _ass_.”

“It’s been some awhile anyway,” he said, heading down the short hall towards the bathroom.

“Babe it’s been four days.”

“For you? That’s an eternity.”

“Fuck off,” the tone was angry, but she was smiling, a little pink rising up her cheeks.

“Gladly, luv, but I’d rather your help.” The line got a loud laugh out of Amanda. Though his back was turned to her, he could hear the clinks of liquor bottles and glasses from the kitchen.

“Go on ahead, I’ll be right there. Gin?”

“If it’s that or your rocket fuel whiskey then yes.” The reply back came in the form of a muffled snort, half drowned out by the sound of running water.

( _You’re rummaging through a woman’s vanity cabinet for her lavender bubbles, risking over-heating, why are you so calm? How are you used to this novelty?)_

She appeared a moment later with two glasses, which she placed precariously on the edge of the tub. There was no inherent grace to her movements; she wasn’t dainty or careful unless her current project required a much keener eye and much more mindful touch than the usual engines. In contrast her smile was delicate and kind. _Inviting_. They haven’t had to work around inhibitors and programmed cease-movements for months, but she still approaches him with a very obvious physical and vocal _yes_. She went at the buttons of his work shirt with her customary impatience, and he tried to return the favor by lifting off her shirt to reveal her luridly violet sports bra. Neither of them had an exact routine in this; they were both clumsy with romance, intimacy, so it wasn’t a surprise when Ripley paused, stepping back from him slowly.

“Alright, luv?” he asked, watching her curiously as she shut off the bathroom lights.

“I’m going to get a couple candles instead.” Previously, he had always been the one to insist on darkness, or at least dimness. She had no bashfulness, once unzipping his trousers while he sat on the couch, straddling his lap and grinning like a cat at his befuddled expression. The curtains were open, his reading lamp on, and it was hardly three in the afternoon.

( _“Is this normal?” he asks, she grins:“Riding a synthetic on my couch, or fucking in broad daylight?” He considers her, appreciating this position more than he wants to let on. “The latter,” “Whatever either of us ever do in the privacy of our home, is entirely normal.” It isn’t that he doesn’t believe her, but she’s wrong, and this will never be normal because it is him with her and her with him and this is still wrong on the level of his most basic programming.)_

Amanda gathered up their clothes, including his jacket from the floor; he reached out for it immediately,

“ _Wait_!—Just leave the—“

“…Chris I’m just putting it in the hamper. I’ll be right back. I know you can wait an extra forty seconds,” she said with a flirtatious smile as she walked out to their room. She dropped the clothes on the floor, his jacket on the bed, then the door swung closed and he couldn’t see from where he was left standing but he _knew_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahaha Between the crap going on at home (avoiding house on weekends and not having internet nearly each week friday morning to sunday night), my boss firing everyone but me (and wow I doubt I'll be there much longer), and rehearsals an hour away each night after work---I DON'T GET MUCH TIME TO DO ANYTHING. I did have time on that snow day. But did I get this done? No.
> 
> I'd say "God willing there'll be the rest of it up by the end of this week" but its more like "If I have the energy to do this then I'll get it out to you guys."
> 
> sleep, my friend, I miss you sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

He knew _exactly_ what she was doing. Anxiety, she called it, nerves, either way he immediately assumed the absolute worst in any situation, and he had always tried to reason with her that it made him prepared for the worst.

( _“But you’re never prepared for the best.” “What?” “You prepared for me to walk away, hand you over to the company. I didn’t and you didn’t know what to do.”)_

The forty seconds she mentioned came and went, then another forty, and then he reached up for his towel to maintain some dignity—and hers, if she has found the damning thing and wishes to shut him out, much easier to do when he isn’t standing there completely unclothed. Samuels knocked on the door as gently as he can while still making sound.

“Open the damn door, it’s your room too,” _she is annoyed? Is she angry too?_

Amanda was perched on the edge of their bed, her robe loose around her, open and exposing the valley between her breasts, those freckles like stars to her heart. The necklace he gave her. The black box in her hands, solemn and final.

“I can explain.”

“Is this why you weren’t as talky as usual?”

“…Talky?” of all the questions and demands he had half planned to answer, that was not one of them.

“Yeah. Normally when you get home its some long-winded and poetic rant about something you saw or learned. You interrogate me about my day. You do it nicely, but still _all_ the _questions_. I don’t remember the last time you just walked in and were willing to go straight to bed—“

“Whenever you like I always—“

“Not without protesting. ‘Amanda, darling,’” she started in a bad mock-British accent, “’No matter how delightful it is, no amount of physical activity substitutes for conversation.’”

“Firstly, I don’t sound like that. And second—Amanda—I didn’t mean for you to find that.”

Her thumbs brushed the box in her hands gently, her fingers were caging it like a small fragile animal that could escape, flee and never be seen again.

“Hide your surprises better then. I’m nosey,” her voice too, was low, gentle as to not scare away this frightened thing that was barely within her grasp.

“I know—but I didn’t…I wouldn’t have. I wasn’t going to give it to you,” he said.

“Oh…” she sounded genuinely hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

The last time he felt this exposed and ashamed in front of her was the first time she tried taking him to bed, and its spectacularly poor results—lie. The last time he felt _this exposed and ashamed_ in front of her was a hellish tie between ‘dying after failing to do anything more than turn off a glorified computer’ and ‘stumbling over ‘I think I love you’ the first night that she refused to leave his side.’ He pulled the towel around his waist tighter.

“I never wanted to offend you,” he tried, softly. Amanda turned the box over in her hands.

“I don’t care if it ‘offends’ me or not, but could you at least tell me why you decided to back out?” she was quiet, deeply upset, her eyes glossy with tears that she wasn’t letting spill.

“Because I’m not—I have the legal standing of a stolen computer. And it’s not fair to you to ask you to treat whatever this thing…this lovely, wonderful thing that we have as a legal commitment. I do apologize. I thought for a moment that—“ _that what? That this would make her happy? That you could continue to make her happy?_ “I got carried away with myself. I shouldn’t have done it.”

She carelessly dropped the box on the bed and sprung up, eyes wide.

_“Christopher what the actual fuck?!”_

Samuels backed towards the door.

            “…Pardon?”

“ _Sit. Down.”_ Amanda is not the kind of woman that you ignore orders from, even in a situation like this. Hesitant for only a moment, he walked over to the bed and did as was told. “Thank you. Now. I am going to be very plain and clear because this needs to get through to whatever fucked up logic processor is in charge of making decisions re: us.”

“I don’t think my logic processors have much of a say in it,”

“ _Shut up_. Listen to me, and if you don’t grasp the concept this time, then the next time you assume I want to leave, so help me, I _will_.”

“I’m not stopping—“

“ _I said shush_. I’m not leaving right now. I don’t want to. I’m not going to throw you out. I love you, and I can’t begin to tell you how hard that is for me to say that, not because its you but because I haven’t told anyone I loved them since I was nineteen and I didn’t think I ever would again. You mean the fucking _stars_ to me, but you don’t trust me—“

“Don’t be absurd, of course I—“ at the intensity of her glare, he stopped himself.

“No you don’t. If you trusted me you wouldn’t constantly be guarding what you do and say and being so factory perfect for me. You’d be you. I’m staying with you for as long as you’ll deal with me—until I’m old and gross and you want to find…someone else—at least I hope you would because you need someone to love you like you love—“

“I’m not leaving you when you age—I wouldn’t want to.”

“And neither would I! I’ve _told_ you. I’ve told you a _million_ times, I’m in this for as long as we can make it last. It’s been nearly two years.”

“Months. It’s been months, subtracting your time in cryo.”

“Chris, honey. My point. I’m not offended that you were going to ask me. When you said that, I thought you meant that you didn’t _want to_. But if we can just agree that we’re both here for good then…well, I guess that’s pretty much the same thing as a legally binding certificate.” There was silence for a long moment before his reply:

“You’re sure about this?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Do I still have to kneel? Because I don’t think the towel would stay on and that would—detract from the—“ she was frantically tearing the wrapping off the box and digging out its contents. _So much for traditions._

“This is too nice,” she said, turning over the gold ring in her fingers, sliding it on and off her ring finger, middle finger, then on the other hand to see where it best fit.

“If you don’t like it—“

“What kind of stone is this?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a comet diamond…”

“Still…. this is way too much… A plain gold, hell even a plain silver band would have been more than enough.” She ran her finger over the three gems, inlaid into the gold band and perfectly smooth. It wouldn’t catch on anything or scratch or poke accidently if she wore it to bed.

“I can’t return it.”

“Why?”

“…..it’s laser engraved.” She tilted it toward the light, reading the inside, simple, ‘forever,’ and texture on the other side. “I know this is…silly. ‘Cheesy’ to borrow your words, but if you were to hold it under a scope, and if you had your glasses on you could probably make it out a little better too it’s…binary code,”

“What does it say, you stupid romantic?” she was smiling playfully but her eyes were wet again, and she blinked hard to clear them.

“’You make me human.’”

“Christo-pher?” her voice cracked.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I want to hug you and cry or if I want to fuck your batteries out right now.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to either or both, though please, I would prefer that you didn’t wear my charge out.”

She plopped on the mattress next to him, falling backward and pulling him down with her. An awkward wriggle, and she was in her usual spot, between him and the wall, the most secure-feeling place she’d ever been.

( _“I don’t want to make you feel…closed in.” “You’re not closing me in, if you stay on the side nearest the rest of the room, I feel safer.” “How?” “Because I know you’d be right there if anything ever happened.” “The last time you were between an android and a wall it nearly killed you.” “You’re different.”)_

“Okay…I’m not going to cry, but I am going to—“ she hugged him, uncomfortable to do while lying down, but neither noticed. “You are…the most human person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet I am the only person you’ve met that isn’t real.”

“I’ve met _a lot_ of synthetics and androids and bots. You are not the only one of those. However, you’re still wrong for another reason. You are real.” Her forehead rested against his; and he knew that she could see his eyes close up now, watch the subtle shift of the camera-like shutters of his irises expand, the pupil lenses, his core greedy for a clearer image of her eyes. Mossy and cool, a riverbed green, relaxing and alive, grounding, stubborn. There’s no logic to it at all, no reason, and the haze in his head is telling him to enjoy this quiet, this miracle, and he wants to listen to it and drink in her human warmth and affection for as long as he can. Still another line of code, an adaptive one, a social protocol one, pestered him. _She didn’t technically say ‘yes,’ and you, you coward didn’t even ask. She_ will _say yes and its entirely because you make her feel safe and loved; you’re her guard drone and she’ll realize that one day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was shamefully little editing here but I'm so tired that my eyes hurt. Might regret posting this chapter and re-edit in the AM. Might not.
> 
> Most likely the work will have either one or two more chapters in it, but I doubt it'll be any more than that. Night.


	4. Chapter 4

Whatever the code it was that was bothering him, it was not satisfied by an out of context affirmative. Or by the content, barely-dressed human lying on top of him, who seems to have forgotten that she needs to _breathe_.

Gently he pulled back from her, careful to keep appearing happy, for fear that she would be upset again. He waited until she caught her breathe… _in the mean time,_ he kissed her neck delicately.

“Cater to my nerves one last time,” he whispered carefully along her throat before meeting her eyes, “Please?”

“As long as this isn’t something stupid,” she warned; her voice dripping affection, eyes half shut. She was so close to him he felt the breath of her words on his own lips.

“You told me before, a human—“ he stopped himself, tried another approach: “That whatever we cannot have together because of my limitations doesn’t concern you. That you didn’t want any of it anyway. If…” he wanted to apologize for his inability to phrase it, but why _should_ he have known how to have this discussion? The most important thing he ever asked from a human before meeting her was a vacant office down the hall from his own—one with a window instead of his quiet cell.

“If you were a human, would I want to get married?”

He nodded dumbly in response.

“I…guess?” she laughed at the lack of romance in her own answer. “I don’t know, I told you I don’t need it. Fancy party, expensive dress I don’t want and won’t wear again—but if you did, then yeah. I still wouldn’t think that we need a legal document to say ‘we’re never leaving each other’ but if you think its something then…it’s something.”

“We still _can’t_ have that.”

“I know. But I’ll wear the ring. No one’s gonna ask us to see our marriage license to check into hotel rooms or book dinner reservations,”

“You don’t have to wear it, I promise it was…mostly an impulse purchase—not that I didn’t think of it! I just…tonight I finally did, and that was impulsive, which for me still requires the same thought process as any other decision—I don’t expect you to wear it out if you don’t want to, because people might ask and if anyone…It isn’t—“

He must have been taking too long to reply, because she was kissing him again, and growing increasingly warm.

“Wait—Wait;”

“Mmm now what? I already hugged you and cried, and I want to move on to option two before the water gets cold,” computer memory or not, he had entirely forgotten that the pleasant, peppery floral scent in their room was from the steaming bath across the hall.

“Why _do_ you want—I believe you mean it, youridea of a more traditional marriage, only…” he uncurled her hand from his, pressing his palm to hers, fingertips to fingertips. The playful, childish smile she wore melted him. “Why me, is what I’m trying to ask?”

“How can you still—?” Amanda sat up next to him, and to avoid being entirely looked down at, he rose up onto his elbows. “You’ve done so much for me, given me—“

“Is that why? Because of what I have, or can do for you?” she would be angry, and she _was_ angry, but she bit it back. He didn’t mean to distrust her, didn’t mean that he doesn’t think she loves him, but it kept rolling back to his inability to see himself as someone worth—

She pursed her lips, pressed a hand to his chest to make him lie down as she settled back to her previous position; her leg slid over his, arm over hm. “Are you digging for compliments?”

“I thought the phrase was ‘fishing’?”

“Well are you, because that’s exactly what it seems like you’re doing,”

“Not at all, I’m genuinely curious.” And genuinely bothered that she was trying to joke away his fears.

“You’re funny,” she was answered with a scoff, “I mean it! Both accidently when you’re confused, and your eyes kind of lose focus like you don’t know where you are—“

“They don’t,”

“They _do,_ and it’s _adorable_. And when you’re annoyed or grumpy—“

“—when am I ever grumpy?”

“When you’re pissed off at someone but your protocols or your innate politeness won’t let you just tell someone to fuck themselves. Anyway you get this, I don’t know, sardonic? Is that the word? Sardonic tone of voice, and that English sense of humor comes out.”

“Amy, luv, I’m not actually English,”

“Shhh, you’re close enough, and it’s kind of sexy. In high school all the girls liked English guys,” the quiet he made was his attempt at laughter. It was a very strange sound he’s been working on, and it was getting closer and closer to human-sounding. “And common sense lacking aside, you’re very smart—and I mean _you_ not the wifi that I know you tap into during trivia pursuit,”

“You’re clever too—“

“And you’re charming. Cute as hell.

“’Cute,’ ‘sexy,’ is that w—“ Amanda groaned “Now what?”

“’Sexy’ it sounds dirty when you say it…And its not a _reason_ but it might be fate that—“ her limbs tightened a little more around him, “You fit me like a key.” She felt him getting hot—and while she couldn’t see his blush (he’d need red blood to do that) she could _feel_ him blush. “After everyone I’ve lost, the universe gave you back to me.”

“I adore you. And if could give you just this one thing, I thought, maybe it would be a kind of signal, or reminder that this will last longer than the year.”

“It will, I promise.”

“You do?”

Amanda Ripey knew better than most how worthless a promise was, and had no issues with restating for his sake:

“I do,” she wriggled closer, shifted a little so her head was pillowed over his heart, and she could hear the steady, quiet buzz of his inner workings. Her eyes widened in realization as her voice echoed in her ears along with his white noise. “You did that on purpose.”

“It’s a rather pathetic ceremony.”

“We’re happy, together; I’ve got the most gorgeous man on this rock stripped like he’s factory-fresh in my bed, I think that as far as life events go, this is just fine.”

“No reception.”

“Also an engagement to marriage in under fifteen minutes.”

“You mean that?”

She didn’t, and part of him knew it, and it was a little selfish to ask this of her already, and yet at this point...

“You’re right, officially we can’t really…there’s no where that would marry a human to a not-human, but there’s no reason why we can’t say we are.” She smiled at his barely contained euphoria. “I like the idea more than I ever thought I would, calling you my husband.”

“That’s music to hear you say,”

“Call me yours,”

Samuels’ artificial breath stopped. He wasn’t sure that he was capable within protocols to refer to anything of value, let alone a human, as his.

“You’re not mine to possess.”

“I say it about you!”

“You own me, legally. I don’t own you.”

“And I _hate_ that I do, I hate it so much. You’re a person not a car; I shouldn’t have a fucking _title_ to you. Can you say it, or something stopping you?”

He carefully played words in his head before making the attempt. Worse case scenario, he figured, would be that he was incapable of saying it, in which case he might even get sympathy from her instead of anger.

‘”My …lover. Partner… wife, my human heart.”

“Disgustingly sappy,” she said, with a slight sniffle.

“Repulsive.”

“You’re not a poet, either that or I’m not a poetry-reader.”

“I’m afraid we’re both at fault there, dear.” His smile didn’t falter, didn’t fade, outliving its record life-span of twenty seconds.

“I still want to take a bath,” her words finally broke his smile, “What?”

“It’s…a lot at once; and I—“

“You can stay here,” she kissed his cheek before she sat up, ran her fingers through his hair to flatten it down again. “Nothing we can’t do in the morning,” his hand caught hers as she climbed out of bed, “What?”

“Thank you,”

“You buy me a ring that cost as much as another _you_ , and you’re thanking me?”

“Yes, I am.” He watched her blush, her cocky half-smile as her mind reeled to think of something to brush it off. Part of him desperately wished that she accepted more romance; the other adored her attitude and pragmatism. “Amanda,” he rarely said her name, there was no need to, not when it was just them and the cats, there was no need to differentiate between individuals—and if a title fit within a phrase, he usually noted her as one of the various pet names he was still unsure of the origins of.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know what it feels like to be human. I don’t know what its like to be able to ignore programs in your head, the constant different levels of thought, and sight, and hearing—even now I’m aware of a decrypting in my secondary processor for last night’s update, and in the primary processor a notice that I need sleep or a shut down to finish the installation. It’s constant but when I’m with you—I…Things shut down, run quiet. My vision limits. Audio input turns to primary decibel stereo. I meant it…if I am ever human it is only when I’m with you.”

Ripley’s throat tightened, there was nothing she could think of to reply to him, and she’s been on the verge of tears enough tonight.

“I’ll be back in a few,” she said with one last squeeze of his hand.

Samuels watched her as she walked out of their bedroom door, her robe dropped on the hallway floor between it and the bathroom. Smiling to himself, he rolled over onto her said of their bed, and timed his clock for fifteen minutes of sleep-mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the next update won't take so long. This whole thing was supposed to be a long one-shot but I need feedback and comments and kudos to live, and also I have been getting hardly any sleep, and I've been working 10 hours and then going an hour to my uni to run rehearsals and THEN driving an hour home, getting about 3-5 hours of sleep and then repeating. Its been....awful.
> 
> no excuse, but still, I wanted you guys to know that I haven't forgotten or abandoned ANY of my Isolation fics. This one might have 2-3 short chapters left, or one longer one.


	5. Chapter 5

_There’s soft light coming in from outside, distant city sounds, and about forty minutes ago his fiancée quietly crypt form their bed, and walked to the kitchen to turn the kettle on._ Chris’s hazy semi-conscious mind mistook observations for dream until he heard footsteps again; not soft, but graceless and impatient.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Amanda leaned forward and kissed his cheek, watched his brow wrinkle in confusion.

“Morning?” he doesn’t yawn, and the drowsy sleep-drunk moments are fleeting for him, barely a minute long, “Why are you awake?”

“I didn’t sleep well.” She didn’t look like she did, her eyes were ringed and her skin pasty, hair a mess yet.

“I’m sorry if that had anything to do with my completely un-thought out actions last night.”

“Do not fucking apologize for dropping enough money to buy a car on a _fashion accessory_ ,” it was a lighthearted jab; she was wearing said accessory on her left-hand ring finger.

 _It’s the about the only thing she’s wearing_ , he noted as his vision focused in the full light beyond her face; the lace nightgown he had gotten her fitting snugly over her torso, flaring out around her hips; the soft ivy-green was nearly the same color as her eyes. That was more the reason it caught his attention enough to buy it. Still, he was starting to see the appeal human men saw in clothing like this, the pattern allowed for much of her skin to be on view, at the same time giving her a timeless look, a being as at home today as she would have been six hundred years ago, as either a mortal or spirit of a river, of a lake the color of her eyes, lady of the lake, Avalon, _knights wore their metal on the_ outside _of their bodies, why even try to compare yourself to—_

“—Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted to go out for breakfast,” she settled down on the side of the bed that was usually his, drawing her legs up.

“No, it’s a little late, I think.” by the time they were both dressed, both reached the city, it’d be nearly noon. They were already both impossibly late to work. Though maybe she had already called in, called out, called his office with some absurd story _‘my android has food poisoning.’_ His office didn’t know. It would be wonderful if they never knew.

“Maybe lunch? I do have tea out there now for you,” _she’s an angel and she’s never going to realize that_ …

“Lunch sounds better. Early dinner, perhaps,”

“Are you that tired?” she reached down, instinctively to touch his forehead, instead changing the useless test for fever into a gentle hand on the side of his face, affection.

“No, darling, not at all,” the heaviness of sleep mode only lasted a short while, but her closeness, her skin, her voice, they lull his programming, made the world run slower. He turned his face in her hand to kiss the inside of it.

“Good, you sleeping late is definitely cause for concern…Any preference for the place? I could call in?”

“Not until later. You’re not leaving this room until at least eleven.”

“Really now?” Amanda’s eyebrow rose, her voice too went up an octave.

“Oh yes,” _who else could ever be so lucky_? He thought, lying back down as she climbed over him, nightdress riding up her thighs as she came to rest over his hips, gently sliding herself down, the duvet pushed aside and the flannel sheet alone between them.

“You want to tell me why?”

“I…was…considering the possibility…” It was concerning, the reactions he had to her; for a long time he had been in complete control of his movements, but as of late she’d been eliciting the strangest responses, mild shiver-like convulsions, steady pulses in his core would skip, all programs freezing for a nanosecond—a noticeable, worrying amount of time but nothing that could be attended to by servicing—or else _that_ , that particular function on which he’d gamble his existence that it was written in as a sick joke by a group of graduate students.

“Well are we going to play a _rousing_ game of chess? Or…?” she pressed herself forward a little, then back. And it was _increasingly_ concerning, he shouldn’t feel the tenseness growing, heat, electrical pulses that he could only vaguely associate with his _actual electrical system_ , and damn it all to hell, she doesn’t seem to care, only that it shouldn’t have been so difficult to control. Every time she’s done this he’s had less control.

His wide-eyed concern was visible to her for the first time, and he realized from her puzzled expression that she had never been able to notice his look in the dark.

“Christopher… you’re not doing that on purpose are you?” she was moving slower, but at a steady pace, and his focus was shrinking down to only three or four specific commands.

“I—no, no I’m not,” he muttered.

“Holy shit, I gave a robot a hard-on,” he wasn’t sure what was more worrying, the lack of control, or the glee that she had over it.

“Can we please not, discuss that out loud?”

“Your stiff junk between my legs part or the ‘robot’ part? Because we are really far past discussing both those subjects out—”

“You know exactly how to phrase things in the most romantic of ways. Amy—“ he couldn’t stop the brief static-ridden groan he let out as she started to move faster, “Amy— _please stop that_. Thank you…If—If I can’t control—what _else_ can't I?”

“Tell me what you want to do.”

She had the same worries in her that he did, and he appreciated her interest in his well-being, her tender eyes brimmed with worry— _worry for me_ —were as unique and new to him as the rest of her affections were.

“W-We should stop, and I’ll run diagnostics, and perhaps we could pick this up later,”

“I didn’t ask what we should do, I asked what you _wanted_ to do.”

He _wanted_ to somehow evaporate on the spot, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Whatever you—“

“What do _you_ want? As in, am I going to pull this sheet back and ride you until you make that cute little whimper as you finish, or are you going to fuck me until I’m screaming?”

“….darling, the concept of romance is lost on your entirely.”

“Something more arcane could be in order?”

“I will _combust_ if you continue on that path,”

“Fine. How would you phrase ‘I want to have sex with my new fiancée?”

“I would like to make love to you, gently, slowly, in the quiet of drawn curtains, preferably looking up at you, a halo of pale sunlight around you, angelic. Then again, I’d also like to have you under me, so I can feel your arms and legs around me, holding me to sanity.” No matter how self-conscious he was over it, no matter how scared he was over his lack of control, he was still afraid that he’d misstep in his words. That he wouldn’t seem real enough for her.

“How the _fuck_ did I end up with you?”

“A series of particularly unfortunate events,” his chuckle was half static, half eerie imitation, and all nerves.

Ripley adored it; blew off his self-deprecation with a kiss as she lowered down to brush his lips with her own. It was taunting, teasing, and he let out the air in his respirator fans in a deep sigh, his internal fans turning on in anticipation of the overheating he was in for; Amanda’s left hand around his right wrist, the cool of the gold ring so frighteningly alien in its humanity. She shifted a little to pull the sheets away from between them, her smile was entirely for him, the look of mild yet pleased surprise as he pressed up into her was as uncontrolled as his own reactions.

“Ohhhh one last thing,”

“hmm?”

Her fingers locked around his wrists, her content moan.

“I’m keeping my last name.”

If he could laugh, he would have been laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brought to u by guinness stout and black velvet whiskey and the hope that alcohol involvement eases the standard i'm held to

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this nonsense and I'm sorry.


End file.
